


Markiplier x Reader: Club

by KingOfHearts709



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Cuddles, Gen, Hangover, Implied Sexual Content, Markiplier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOfHearts709/pseuds/KingOfHearts709
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wake up with a bad headache, an unsusal environment, and a curiosity of what happened the night before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Markiplier x Reader: Club

**Author's Note:**

> It's currently 2:02 am. I am tired. This kind of fic has been written a million times over by many writers. I tried to put my own twist on, but meh. xoxo

"Mm...," you mumbled, shifting. Your head hurt a little bit.  
Ow. It hurt a lot more now. You shifted again to press your face into the soft fabric thing, hopefully to make you fall back asleep and forget about the pain.  
You needed to get up, though, didn't you? You had work on Mondays. Or was it Sunday and you were off? You couldn't remember, but maybe it really was Sunday.  
You couldn't trust your instinct. You shut your eyes as your uncoordinated hand reached for your phone on your nightstand.  
Not there. Maybe you forgot to plug it in. Were you wearing your watch?  
Yep. It was Sunday, which meant you weren't getting out of bed anytime soon. Your watch read 10:14am.  
God damn, this headache hurt. Maybe you should get some aspirin before you fell asleep again. It would certainly help.  
Wait. Wait a minute. No shirt? Why weren't you wearing a shirt? You always wore one to bed. Maybe you were just tired and forgot. Or maybe it was something else, being tired wouldn't give you this much of a headache.  
Oh. Oh, you remembered. You went to the club last night. God. You had gotten smashed, that was for sure, and you were almost positive you let someone make-out with you half the time.  
God.  
All you wanted to do was get up, watch YouTube, eat some crackers, have a bit of tea and be done for the day. It was far too early for anything else.  
You sat up again, vision blurred as you stepped out of bed. No bottoms either, Jesus. There was a green shirt on the floor with some kind of writing on it. You picked it up and slipped it on, not caring whether or not it was inside-out. You did the same with the sweats next to them. You went to where your bedroom door was and...  
Smack. Straight into the wall. It wasn't very loud, but it wasn't quiet, either. You stumbled left and pushed open the actual door, walking out and-  
This was not your house.  
This. Was. Not. Your. House.  
You know how you knew? You didn't have a staircase. And there was one right smack in front of you.  
"What the- Who did I go home with?" you asked aloud, going back to the bedroom. It was empty, so of course you had no idea who else was here. You seriously hoped you hadn't been kidnapped by some creepoid.  
You slowly walked down the stairs and stepped foot in the living room. There was no one there.  
"Uh...," you whispered, then bit your lip. Maybe you should just stay upstairs. That seemed like a better option. You slowly made your way back upstairs and into the bedroom. Still empty.  
If you were in someone else's house, then where was the other person? Did they leave you here alone?  
Ow. Your head still really hurt. Back to bed... You fell forward and under the covers. Should you take off the shirt? It wasn't yours.  
Screw it. You took it off, along with the sweats. You buried your face into the pillow again, hoping that when you woke up again you might be at home, or at least without a headache.  
Oh. The bed was moving. The person was getting back in bed. Why were they getting back in bed? Did they not see you? You had to pretend to still be asleep. If you didn't, it might turn awkward.  
Oh, mother of all hell.  
Please, God, please don't let that be who you think it is.  
They turned their head.  
Son of a bitch.  
Take a wild guess. You got it?  
Markiplier. In bed. With you. Yeah.  
You slept with Markiplier after some crazy club night filled with drinking, kissing, and, somehow, sex. What really ran through your mind was how you and he got through the door.  
He shifted towards you, tired, mumbling something about being tired, slipping an arm over your back. You tensed a bit, wondering if he knew you had left and gotten back. Maybe you could pretend you had just woken up. Let him know you were there.  
"Mm...," you mumbled, pretending to come out of sleep and sitting up a little. Mark, even though it felt weird if call him that in this situation, moved, groaned sleepily, and just basically cuddled you further. "What...," you said. Mark didn't answer. You put your head back onto the pillow. Closed your eyes.  
You know, maybe you and he didn't need to wake up just yet.


End file.
